


Run

by Cheloya



Category: X -エックス- | X/1999
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-27 07:13:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10804353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheloya/pseuds/Cheloya
Summary: Old, imported. Kakyou's fears were right.





	Run

He often thought that she was the best thing that had ever happened to him. No, not thought. Knew. As clearly as he knew his name, as clearly as he knew the colour of the sky on a clear day - clearer, even, than that, for when was the last time that Kakyou Kuzuki had truly seen the sky?

If he followed her presence through his dreams (how strange that bright spark had seemed before he met her, how incomprehensible the patterns that it traced) he knew that she was the best thing to happen to many people.

She had been so bright and delightful, so cheerful and fickle and fey, that he had been afraid to seek out the answers to her life in his dreams; he had been afraid of what might be lurking around the corners in her life. He had been afraid, terribly afraid, that she would be taken away from him, that the only joy he had in his stilted, crippled excuse for life, the only light he had, would die, and leave him floundering once again in fathomless darkness.

He recalled with crystal clarity the sky she had summoned for him, the rolling motion of the ocean, and the distant cries of the sea-birds as they drifted lazily overhead. Remembered, too, the crisply dreamed afternoon spent strolling on the sand (how fascinating, the way that it went _crunch, crunch, crunch_ beneath his wasted feet, as though he was still warm and solid and there, as though he was not some frail, practically weightless invalid lying prostrate in a nameless hotel) and the way she had laughed to see the surprise on his face when she had fearlessly fished a crab out of a rock pool.

The times of his waking were always few and far between, but he still remembered the phantom strength that had flowed through his limbs each time he had awoken from dreams shared with _her_. She was the best thing to happen to him, he knew it and remembered it well, with a queer aching sensation that burned his throat and the backs of his eyes. She was the best thing. The only thing.

He reached for her future, and found, to his horror, (his strength failing him once again, his legs sinking slowly into atrophy no matter how he willed them to _run, run, run_ ) that she had none.


End file.
